


Fallen Soldier

by houndoom



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-11 15:38:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houndoom/pseuds/houndoom
Summary: After quitting the force and seeing that Lee had moved on, Jim was spiraling. Nothing was grounding him and the only thing he could feel was himself, slipping away. Alfred is having none of it.





	1. Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An altercation with an unknown faction causes a drunken Jim to join the fray with Alfred to protect Bruce.

Jim stopped keeping track of drinks months ago. This bar was one of the few left in Gotham where he could have a drink in peace before noon. He kept his head down, like always, and watched the amber colored liquid swirl in his glass. He had also stopped tasting it months ago.

Time was illusory in the bar. Sometimes Jim thought he could see it flicker by, but when he blinked it was just dust floating in the dim light. Somedays he wasn’t sure when he showed up and the only indicator was a different person standing behind the bar. The bartenders always kept their heads down too. They never mentioned Jim by name or tried to bring up times and stories of heroism long past. They didn’t take the time to look at him as though he could save any of them. Instead they looked at his growing tab without a mote of recognition in their eyes.

Holding the glass in his hand, Jim brought it to his lips and downed it in one go. No burn, no sensation. He threw money down and didn’t wait for his change. Outside the morning rush had just ended and Gotham was fully awake and ready. The bar was on a relatively unsavory street and didn’t have too many stores. It was perfect for wanting to pass by unnoticed. As he walked, Jim’s gait was steady and straight and to the untrained eye it might have appeared as though he hadn’t had a drink in weeks. But, he could feel it, sitting in his gut and swimming in his head. Two years ago, guilt would have wracked its way through Jim’s chest but now he wasn’t sure he felt much of anything except tired and perhaps a bit annoyed.

He had recently been given another bounty; a thief with a penchant for frequenting the homes of extraordinarily wealthy widows. He already had a few leads, some stronger than others, wasn’t too particularly stressed about it. He was on his way to pursue one of the stronger ones when he saw Alfred and Bruce out of the corner of his eye. They were on the opposite side of the street walking towards a car. He wasn’t in any mood to see either of them, particularly Bruce. The boy’s eyes had become too deep and too provoking. Jim also wasn’t interested in having Alfred’s tired eyes sweep over him and assess just how he had been spending this fine weekday morning. Jim wasn’t actually sure if it was a weekday.

Content to move on with his own business, Jim kept walking, now taking extra measures to go unnoticed. He was making good progress until he heard what sounded like a cry of protest from Alfred. He turned around to see three masked figures making their way down fire escapes, one of them already moving towards Alfred with a knife drawn. Bruce was backing away, though it was clear he didn’t want to leave Alfred. Jim cursed under his breath before dashing across the street.

“Run, Master Bruce!” Alfred shouted. He has his fists raised and legs spread apart, feet firmly planted. He was obviously a trained man.

Jim removed his gun from his holster, “Stop where you are and everybody gets to go home!” His gun was pointed at the figure already advancing towards Alfred but he made sure to glance at the men scaling the fire escapes of the nearby buildings. The figures paid him no heed and pressed on. The one with a knife drawn slashed at Alfred, narrowly missing his face. All three were crowding him now.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Alfred grunted and threw a punch at the knife wielding figure. His punch was easily dodged, giving the figure an opportunity to attack. Their knife found small purchase through Alfred’s coat, drawing blood.

“Alfred!” Bruce cried out. It seemed as though his body were straining against some force unknown, keeping him from joining the fray.

“Listen to Alfred, kid!” Jim fired a shot at one of the unarmed figures, hitting their arm. The figure made no noise but crumpled to the ground and Jim rushed in to pistol whip the other.

But this figure was bigger than the other two and was ready for him. They adeptly turned around, dropped to the floor and delivered a sweeping kick to Jim’s legs dropping him to the floor, making Jim drop his gun. Jim didn’t feel much pain, but his head spun and his vision went blurry. He vaguely began to remember just how much it was he had to drink only minutes prior. Before the larger figure could kick him again, he grabbed at their leg bringing them down to the floor with him. The two grappled for a bit, while Alfred was still dealing with the knife wielding figure.

Jim managed to get him arm around the large figure’s neck and keep his hold until they stopped struggling. Once, the figure was out, Jim took a moment to asses the situation with Alfred.

Despite his age and current occupation, Alfred was still in good form. Not just good… no, he was excellent. His punches were calculated and his stances immaculate. His eyes never lost their focus. He was fighting with a grace that Jim thought he himself never possessed. It was clear that underneath all of those layers of finery and silks, a soldier’s body existed.

Moved by this display of physical prowess, Jim roused himself from the floor to help Alfred. He readied himself to disarm the figure when he heard a far off shout.

“Detective Gordon! Look out!” Bruce had a hand raised and was pointing behind him, his dark eyes wide with fear.

Jim managed to turn around and see the figure he had shot, holding his gun. He knew the gun wasn’t pointed at him but before he could move, he heard a shot. Then the figure quickly turned to look at him, and pointed the gun. The figure attempted to shoot again as Jim advanced and Jim heard a click but no shot. As he moved to disarm the figure, they raised their arm and struck jim directly on the side of the head.

The last thing he heard was the sound of Bruce screaming and sirens.

_________________

Jim opened his eyes to find he was in the precinct. The harsh fluorescent lighting glared and the dingy gray walls seemed to make the building larger, cavernous even. The sounds of shouting and typing and cases being filed did little to prevent Jim from feeling as though he were in a void, floating alone. Blinking, he thought he saw the time flicker by. He was in a chair, next to Harvey’s desk but Harvey wasn’t in his seat. His eyes scanned the room. He saw Barnes’s office door was closed and could hear faint shouting. Alvarez was on the phone, one hand rubbing the side of his head, eyes closed. New recruits were practicing deep breathing in a corner. Not much had changed. 

As Jim’s eyes swept over the precinct, he became aware of his own searing headache. He reached his hand up to touch his forehead and felt a large gash, clotted with blood. His fingers came away slightly wet. He winced but continued to look around the room. Eventually he saw Harvey questioning Bruce and Alfred. The boy’s brow was furrowed and his eyes weren’t focused on anything in particular. His mouth was moving, so Jim could only assume he was answering Harvey’s questions. Alfred’s coat was draped over his shoulders. His posture showed no signs of what had transpired earlier but Jim could see a bloodied bandage on his right hand. For a while, Alfred was just listening to Harvey and Bruce but suddenly his eyes looked across the room, directly at Jim. His expression went from general disinterest and exhaustion to one of stern disappointment. A look that Jim was sure was usually reserved for Bruce. The corners of Alfred’s mouth turn slightly down before he returned his attention back to Harvey. Jim felt something in the pit of his stomach lurch and something in his chest sank, making his lungs reluctant to draw another breath.

When Harvey was done questioning them Jim noticed that Bruce was staring at him trying to catch his eye. Sighing and understanding that it meant the boy wanted to talk, he lifted himself from his chair, wincing as he felt the blood rush from his head. He walked over slowly trying not to look at Alfred.

“Thank you, Detective Gordon,” Bruce’s voice was steady and clear, despite the altercation. The only thing to indicate any sort of stress was the slight furrow in his brow and his clenched fists, “It’s good that you were in the area. Your assistance was helpful.”

At that remark Alfred snorted and rolled his eyes, but Bruce continued, “Please, join us sometime this week for dinner. As a thank you.”

Jim raised his eyebrows taken aback by the gesture. Bruce was known for his cordiality but he didn’t think something like this would have warranted such gratitude. “Uh, sure…” he responded hesitantly. The ache in his head was no longer dull and was developing rather quickly. “I’ll be sure to stop by soon. And, hey, maybe you might want to drop the ‘Detective’ part there. Been out of the GCPD for a while now.”

Bruce didn’t seem to care that his acceptance of the invitation was hesitant and possibly insincere. He gave the man a thin lipped smile and turned around, making his way out the door. He turned around and cocked his head to the side when he noticed that Alfred was lingering behind.

“Just a moment, Master Bruce,” Alfred didn’t even turn around to look the boy in the eye, instead choosing to keep his gaze locked on Jim, “I’d like a moment with Mister Gordon here to confirm the details of dinner. Please wait a moment in the lobby.” Bruce seemed to accept that and continued to walk off.

Jim looked up at Alfred to see him staring expectantly down, “Listen, tell Bruce I don’t need a dinner or whate-“

“You can stop right there, Mister Gordon, I frankly don’t care if you come for dinner or not,” Alfred straightened his posture and he set his jaw, “What I do care about is you brandishing a gun wildly after you’ve had a couple.”

Jim’s brow furrowed and he found that looking at the other man was a bit more than he could handle. His head was pounding now and he grit his teeth.

“Don’t think I can’t tell when a man’s been drinking. You smell like a full pub on your own. Now, if you’ve been havin’ some trouble with your missus or your job or whatever it is that you do now, I don’t want it comin’ round Master Bruce,” Alfred rolled his shoulders and Jim could hear him hiss, most likely in pain, “Now, if you do plan on coming for dinner, I’m going to trust that you’ll have gotten your act together. I don’t want to be cleanin’ up any more of your drunken messes. I’m not _your_ butler and you need to remember what it is that you’re supposed to be doing.” At that he turned on his heel and walked away, not even giving Jim a chance to apologize. When Jim looked back up at Alfred walking away he saw the bandage on his hand was completely red.

Something cold erupted in Jim’s stomach and he left the precinct not able to hear Harvey calling out after him or even the bustling activity of Gotham at midday. He walked out of the building and on to find his next lead.


	2. Numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim reaches a dead end in his bounty and needs a drink a maybe a bit more.
> 
> M/M/F in this chap y'all.

The man in the chair was laughing, blood trickling from the corner of one of his lips, “Look, guy, I wanna know where that son of a bitch is too. You ain’t gonna get anything from me because I ain’t got nothin’,” He spit out a wad of blood to further his emphasis.

Jim’s knuckles were bloodied and he could feel an ache in one of his shoulders pulsing. The room was disgusting, covered in mold and rotting wood. Behind him there was a table with an open duffle bag, money spilling out of it. Surrounding it was the unconscious body of a man that had, unfortunately, tried to threaten Jim. “Well, I didn’t walk half away across town for you to tell me that you don’t have anything. And I sure as hell didn’t get threatened by your little friend over there for nothing,” Jim wiped some of the sweat from his brow with the palm of his hand and carded his hand through his hair. He knew he was going to stink after this. He then took the man’s hair in his hand and yanked hard, “Now, you gotta give me something to go on here!”

The man yelped in pain and winced, but reopened his eyes and looked Jim directly in the eye, “Fuck you, pig.”

Jim’s lip curled and he dropped the man’s hair and shoved him to the ground. He turned and made a move to leave the room. As he was leaving he heard the man behind him yell, “You might not be a cop anymore, but you still stink like one!” Jim made no move to acknowledge him and continued to walk out of the room and into the dimly lit corridor. He took the stairs down and walked out of the run-down building he was in. It was dark now and there was a harsh wind. Jim hadn’t gotten anywhere and he was tired. He wanted to go home. He wanted a drink.

But as he was walking, he found that his steps hadn’t taken him home and he found himself outside a bar. Not the bar from that morning, but a louder bar. A much more crowded bar. Outside there were men and women smoking, throwing bottles at the floor and laughing over the sound of glass breaking. Underneath a flicker light, Jim saw a man and a woman kissing, their hands groping and clinging and any and all body parts they could reach. Without even truly registering any of it happening, he walked in.

On the far side of the bar a band was playing and a woman was singing. The bass was turned down so low Jim felt every beat. The room was packed with people dancing and screaming. They were covered in glow sticks and paint. People were dragging others by the hand into back rooms. It wasn’t Jim’s usual scene, but it was his scene tonight. He made his way over to the bar and sat down. Next to him a man was laying out several lines of cocaine. The bartender was a woman with shoulder length, black hair and dark eyes. They flashed when she looked at who she was serving.

“Hey there, detective,” she shoved his drink over at him, “You gonna bust us tonight?” Her arms were folded across her chest and she had a sneer on her face.

Jim downed his drink and shoved the glass back at her, “Another. And I’m not a detective anymore.”

She raised one eyebrow as she took his glass, “Is that so?”

Jim didn’t look at her and instead watched her hands as she poured his drink. He made no attempt to answer her.

“Not talkin’, huh?” she shoved his second drink towards him and she narrowed her eyes, “Even though you’re just like the rest of us you still feel you’re too good for a lil’ small talk?”

Jim still made no attempt to speak and took his drink. This one he took time to sip and he looked at her over its rim. She smiled at him but it was devoid of warmth, “Hey, Bill, come over here and see this!” she called out to another bartender pouring drinks at the other end of the bar. It was a man around Jim’s age covered in tattoos. His head was shaved and his ears hung with piercings. His skin was dark and the lights flashing in the bar shone brightly off it. Bill walked over to his coworker and his eyebrows lifted when he saw Jim.

“Well, if it isn’t the mighty Jim Gordon?” he laughed and put his arm around his coworker, “What’s he doing here, Cass? Do we have to pick up and run again?”

“Nah, says he ain’t a cop no more,” she leaned her head on Bill’s chest. She, Cass, was a tall woman, taller than Jim, but Bill stood at least a head taller than her, “Not too talkative though. Thought you might want to clear some air.”

Bill laughs and shakes Cass gently by her shoulders, “Thoughtful of you, babe!” He removed his arm from around her and leaned on the bar, “Remember me?”

Jim takes his last sip and lifts it, shaking it expectantly at Cass before pushing it back in her direction, “No… sorry.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you to anyway,” Bill put his head in one of his hands, “You put me away for drug possession. Did six months in Blackgate for it.”

Jim’s eyes revealed no form of recognition and only watched Cass fill his glass. Bill pressed on, “I get it… you’ve done a lot for Gotham but what have you done for its people?” Bill’s eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly and the corner of his mouth turned in a slight smile, “I bet you don’t know, do you?”

Jim looked down as Cass passed him his drink. He didn’t make a move to pick it up and closed his hands tightly, fingernails digging into his palms.

Bill sighed, “That one’s on the house, handsome. I know better than to kick a man when he’s down.” He started to walk away to deal with other customers when Cass reached out and touched his arm, holding him back.

“Billy, let’s give the guy a house special,” she bit her lip and looked over at Jim, “Maybe it’ll cheer him up a bit. Bring back some of the old Gordon. Maybe bring him down a notch.”

Bill raised one eyebrow and seemed to consider it for a moment, “Well, we don’t want too much of that guy around here… But I guess, it would be an act of… altruism.”

Cass smiled and moved away from Bill, leaning over to Jim. She put a hand over one of Jim’s fists and slid one finger under the sleeve of his jacket, rubbing a small circle on his wrist, “Whaddya say, Jim? You wanna come check out the back with us?”

Jim looked at her hand and then over at Bill. Bill’s chest moved up and down with each breath he took and Jim could see a well defined body underneath the thin shirt he was wearing. Cass was looking at him through a curtain of false eyelashes. For a moment he saw Lee’s face and smile before he blinked.

“Sure,” he croaked out.

_______________________

The three of them were in a small room with one bed. Jim was sprawled out on it and Cass was kissing his neck, occasionally biting his ear. Her hand was undoing his shirt. Bill was undoing Jim’s jeans, taking time to rub his hands against Jim’s hips and thighs. Jim felt himself getting hard, but not much else.

The bartenders had undressed him and then took the time to kiss each other and remove their own clothing. Jim watched them and took his length in his hand and began to stroke slowly. 

“Don’t go too far without us, Gordon,” Bill said in between kissing Cass, “We don’t want to have to play catch up.” Soon all three were undressed and the pair turned their attention back to Jim.

Cass hovered over him, her breasts dangling and dark hair falling over her shoulders, “Sit up, Jimmy,” Jim acquiesced and her back was leaning on an aging wooden headboard, covered in tally marks. Cass straddled him and started to play with herself, pumping her fingers in and out with one hand and pinching her breasts with her other. On the other side of her, he knew Bill was pressing biting marks into the insides of his legs, marks that would no doubt stay for days to come. “So, how do you want us? Or even better… how do we want you? How about you, Bill?”

Bill was making quick word of Jim’s legs, avoiding Jim’s balls and dick with practiced expertise, “I’m fine with whatever you want, babe. This is your idea,”

Cass tilted her head and moaned a bit as she continued her ministrations, “I wanna watch him suck you off. How’s that sound, Gordon?”

Jim’s breathing had grown heavier with Cass’s performance and Bill’s ministrations. He nodded and opened his mouth.

“Well, that’s as good of a plan as I’ve ever heard,” Bill sat up from where he was kneeling and Cass rolled off of him, “On all fours, Gordon.”

Again, Jim acquiesced and moved onto his hands and knees. Cass moved behind him and grabbed his ass, rubbing it and spreading him open. Bill moved in front of him and was kneeling on the edge of the bed. His dick hung in front of Jim and Jim’s mouth watered. Bill wasn’t huge but he wasn’t small either and Jim opened him mouth a little wider, waiting. Bill took his head between his head and pushed the head of his dick in slowly, “Watch your teeth.” Jim stretched his mouth as wide as it could and soon the Bill’s dick was at the back of his throat. Cass smacked his ass and giggled.

“I bet people all over Gotham would pay good money to see Boy Scout Jim Gordon just like this,” she spread his ass open again and placed a finger at his entrance. Jim heard himself moan. Bill moved one hand to Jim’s hair and started to thrust. He wasn’t gentle but Jim couldn’t tell. Behind him Cass bent over and slipped her tongue between his cheeks and began to suck. Jim hollowed out his cheeks and Bill began to grunt with his thrusts. Spit was falling out of Jim’s mouth from the force of Bill’s thrusts but he made no attempt to wope it away. His eyes were open for a moment until Cass’s tongue slipped inside him and then his eyes rolled backwards and his shut them. He wasn’t sure how long they were like that. Seconds, minutes, hours. But then Bill’s dick was gone from his mouth and Cass’s hand was on his dick. She was moaning loud while still eating him out and pumping his dick. He supposed there were vibrations. Bill’s breathing was ragged now and his head was thrown back for a while. Jim kept his eyes trained on his dick, mouth still open. Suddenly Bill’s hand was tugging his head forward angling his face upward. He looked down at Jim and smiled, still breathing heavily. Then he made a strangled noise and he was coming right onto Jim’s face. The warm come dripped down Jim’s face and mingled with the spit already there.

“What a pretty picture you make,” Bill pat the side of Jim’s face. Jim was also, no doubt, flushed all the way down to his chest. Through all of this, Cass hadnt stopped was she was doing, “He look like he’s getting close, babe?”

Cass raised her face, “Nah, but I am and I want more. How’s about it, Gordon? Let me see what all the fuss is about!” And she pat Jim’s ass one last time before nudging him to turn over. Jim did so with no complaint and he watched Cass and Bill kiss slowly above him, tongues out, leaving a trail of their spit that fell onto his chest. Cass straddled him again and asked, “Ready?”

Jim nodded, chest heaving and Cass lifted herself before sinking down onto his dick. Her pussy was tight, he could tell by the way she eased onto him. She took a moment to collect herself before rocking her hips. Bill placed his hands on Jim’s chest and Jim lifted his hands to Cass’s thighs. She picked up speed and began to bounce, her tits flopping. She grabbed one with her own hand and pinched her nipple making herself yell out. Jim rolled his hips in time with her and before long she was moaning and screaming. Outside, Jim could still hear the band playing for the club. She took her other hand and rubbed her clit with it and her body began to tense up. She squeezed her tit and bounced with an intensity that Jim could barely match. He was sweating and Bill was kissing the side of his neck.

“I’m coming,” Cass said between breaths and Bill leaned up again to kiss her over Jim. She made a few more rolls with her hips before letting out a shout that petered out into a low moan. She came to a full stop and then rolled off of Jim. He was still hard but his erection was beginning to flag. He hadn’t come yet.

“That didn’t do it for, you?” Cass asked between labored breaths, “Jeez… tough crowd, huh, Bill?

Bill chuckled and picked up his pants, “Maybe… or maybe Gordon needs something a little more that we don’t have the time or desire to give.” He threw Cass’s panties over to her, “Come one, Cheryl won’t cover our shifts forever.”

“Ugh, fine,” Cass got up slowly and put on her panties and began to get dressed, “You can stay in the room however long you like Gordon, but if you want more to drink you gotta pay. House special only covers so much.”

The bartenders got dressed while bantering and soon Jim was left alone in the room with his still flagging erection. Soon he was soft and he got up and sighed. He picked up his clothes, got dress and made his way back to the bar, right where he was sitting before. A different band was playing but the energy was still the same.

Cass was polishing a glass when she saw Jim sitting down. She walked over and Jim ordered another drink. When she handed it to him she said, “Bill got you good,” she pointed to his neck.

Jim didn’t say anything and sipped his drink. When he finished it he put money down on the bar and walked out. He assumed he was walking towards his apartment but now he couldn’t be too sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is a lot of experimenting for me. im usually super embarrassed about writing sex scenes so i figured i'd rip the bandaid off quick with this fic. also hoping that i managed to get the chap's title across.


	3. Succumb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim joins Alfred and Bruce for dinner and doesn't count his drinks.

A car horn woke Jim up. He was in his bed, clothes still on from yesterday. He could smell alcohol and smoke on his jacket. His skin smelled like the mold from his failed interrogation. That was two days ago. He looked around his apartment. The dull light filtering in from between the skyscrapers somehow made the shadows of his apartment seem dingier… darker. Every surface was littered with bottles. Some were empty, some barely touched and some unopened. He lifted himself from his bed, wincing as his shoulders and back cracked loudly, and walked over to his coffee maker. As he got ready to make a pot of coffee he heard his cellphone ring. He took it out of his phone to see Bruce’s number. 

“Hello?” Jim queried, the sound of his voice seemed altogether too loud for the delicate silence. 

“Mister Gordon,” Alfred’s voice sailed over the connection smoothly, “Good to hear you’re still alive.” 

“Uh, hi, Alfred…” Jim’s eyebrows raised and he continued to make his coffee, “Is this is house call or…?” 

“Master Bruce was wondering when you would be inclined to join us for dinner,” Jim couldn’t see Alfred’s face but could hear the disinterested expression on it, “Perhaps sometime today?” 

Jim looked at his watch. It was seven o’clock. He had a few more leads to follow up on, but nothing too pressing. “Yeah, I guess I could make it today.” 

“Splendid,” the tinny sound of Alfred’s voice through the phone exhibited no change in emotion or expression, “Shall we say 7:30?” 

“Yes, I’ll be there,” he poured his coffee and reached for a bottle of scotch. 

“Good,” Alfred said in a clipped voice, “And, Mister Gordon… I trust you’ll be presentable this evening. Don’t want me cleaning up any more of your messes, now do we?” 

Jim’s wrist froze. Another centimeter and the scotch would have flowed into his coffee. He laughed feebly, “Ha, right…” 

“Well then. See you in half an hour.” 

“Half an hour?” Jim’s question was answered with a click followed by a dial tone. He looked at his phone. It was 7:15PM, “Shit.” 

___________________

Jim drove up to Wayne Manor as smoothly as he could. Once he realized he didn’t have much time to get ready, it was a desperate race against the clock. He scrambled for clothes not stained with blood and that didn’t smell too much of cigarette smoke. The best he could do was one of his older suits from before he came to Gotham. It was grey, as most of his suits were, but this one was obviously well tailored and had a set of silver cufflinks to go with it. He remembered that Barbara had given it to him years ago. Shaking off that memory he moved to get out of his car to see Alfred waiting for him by the door. Jim looked at his watch. It was 7:36. 

“Mister Gordon, thank you for joining us this evening,” Alfred, despite the chill, was only in his waistcoat and had one hand behind his back and another was dangling in front of him in a sling; his hand had a fresh bandage, “Master Bruce is waiting for you in his study.” 

Jim got out of his car and dusted himself off, straightening his jacket. When he looked up he saw Alfred eyeing his suit appreciatively. “You clean up nicely,” he said. 

“Thank you, Alfred,” something about the compliment made a bit of color rise to his cheeks. Alfred saw that and the corner of his mouth turned up slightly and something soft came into his eyes. His eyes continued to trail over Jim but they stopped right before his face. Jim almost missed the slight quirk of his eyebrow. 

“This way, Mister Gordon,” Alfred turned around without making another remark. Jim suddenly remembered, _‘Bill got you good.’_ He reached up to touch his neck where there was no doubt a fading hickey. In his rush to make the dinner on time he hadn’t realized how dark it was and didn’t take the time to cover it up. He sighed and followed Alfred through the door. Walking through Wayne Manor was always humbling. Jim knew that in this hallway alone there were treasures worth more than he would ever make in three lifetimes. Alfred walked through it all with ease and the utmost confidence. It was impressive. 

Soon they were in the library and they walked in to see Bruce at his desk reading a rather old and large book. Alfred cleared his throat and Bruce looked up. His face broke out into a small smile when he saw Jim, “Jim,” the boy was still obviously uncomfortable at the prospect of using Jim’s name but he moved on, “I’m glad you could join us this evening.” He stood up from the desk and walked over to where Jim and Alfred were standing. 

“Well, I’ll go set the table,” Alfred said, “I’ll trust you two to talk amongst yourselves and not get too carried away before dinner.” He walked away leaving Jim and Bruce with nothing but the dwindling sounds of his footsteps. 

After a moment of silence, Jim asked, “So, what were you reading?” 

“I was just brushing up on different uses for fertilizer outside of a garden,” Bruce said this with a straight face before looking off into the distance away from Jim, “I’ve recently found it to be much more useful than I once thought.”

Jim raised him eyebrows and nodded, “… Has anyone ever told you that you’re an unusual kid?”

Bruce made the same small smile from earlier, “Alfred has mentioned something to that effect on occasion… How are you doing?”

The question made Jim’s stomach turn, “I’ve been better… And yourself? A few days ago… that wasn’t exactly what I would have called a pleasant day in town.”

“No. It wasn’t pleasant,” Bruce looked Jim, “Alfred and I are managing. We believe it has something to do with the shut down of Indian Hill, but we can’t be too sure. A lot has happened.”

“You got that right… a lot has happened,” Jim opened his mouth but before he could say anything Alfred reappeared.

“Well, time to eat!” he gestured with his free hand for Bruce and Jim to walk into the dining room. He waited for Bruce and Jim to leave before trailing behind them. As he walked passed, Jim caught the faint scent of the cologne that Alfred was wearing, underneath the smell of flour.

The dining room was not what Jim thought it would be. He had been expecting something akin to a ballroom or a room with an impossibly long table, but this room was much cozier. The table was still long and Bruce took his set at the head of it, but it was a table that could seat five, maybe six at best. There were no chandeliers, only modest sconces lining the ornately carved walls. On the table there was a small basket of cut bread and a chicken. There were various side dishes. It was clear that the meal had been labored over. There were two dark bottles, a decanter filled with a dark liquid and a pitcher of water. Four places had been set.

“Are you expecting more company?” Jim gestured to the fourth place setting and he sat down.

Bruce looked up at him and said, “Not really. But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“Yes, we occasionally have a stray wander in,” Alfred began to cut the chicken with one hand, “Wouldn’t be in our nature to deny the poor soul something to eat.”

Seeing Alfred cut the chicken with one hand, Jim rose slightly form his seat, “Here, Alfred, let me give you a hand.”

His offer was meant with a heavy lidded expression of exasperation, “Mister Gordon, I assure you it’s quite alright. Please take your seat.”

Somehow Jim felt as though he had overstepped some kind of boundary. He never thought he would become so well acquainted with someone who had a butler and certainly had never entertained the idea of being served by said butler. It was a little unsettling but Jim figured he should let it slide. But soon enough Alfred had managed to cut the chicken and was placing portions on everyone’s plates, including the fourth plate. 

“Now I think I can trust you both to serve yourself to whatever else you’d like on the table,” and Alfred sat down, taking a piece of bread for himself.

“Jim, would you like anything to drink?” Bruce asked, his expression blank.

Jim swallowed, not having taken a bite of food yet and said with a strained smile, “Water is fine.”

“Well, please help yourself,” Bruce extended a hand towards the bottles on the table, “Tonight is primarily to thank you.”

Jim looked over at Alfred as Bruce was speaking. The older man was focused on his food and not saying anything. He was quite deft with only his one available hand.

“Thank you, Bruce,” Jim said and turned his attention towards his food. The dinner went on and the three made pleasant conversation, Alfred getting up from time to time to replenish the pitcher of water. At one point Jim poured himself a glass of wine, as did Alfred. But whereas Alfred nursed his one glass, Jim moved onto another. With each drink the conversation at the table seemed to pick up and Jim felt encouraged. Bruce was smiling heartily, making his way through his food slowly. Their conversation touched upon current cases, the ongoings of Gotham, ridiculous things that Harvey had said on one stakeout or another. Before long, Jim made his way to the decanter. Alfred, still on his one glass of wine watched him pour drink after drink but made no comment, instead only making casual remarks in the conversation. Jim didn’t notice that when he wasn’t looking, Alfred’s brow would furrow slightly and his lips would tighten. Eventually the dinner came to an end, or rather, it had ended long ago, the three had just stayed at the table to continue talking. But then Bruce stood up. A clock on the wall behind him showed it was a quarter to eleven.

“I’m afraid I must retire for the evening,” the boy said, “It has been a pleasure having you over, Jim. Hopefully we can dine together some other time. Alfred do you mind showing our guest to the door?”

“Of course, Master Bruce,” Bruce smiled at Alfred’s response and then hurried off in the direction of his study. Alfred stood up and looked at Jim expectantly, “Well, let's see if you can stand.”

Jim, affronted by the comment, stood up quickly, knocking over a glass of water he poured hours ago but never touched. His head rushed and his drinks began to settle in his stomach.

“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” Alfred walked over to the door of the dining room, “Come on, then.” Jim put all of his energy into keeping a straight line. He followed behind Alfred concentrating on his every step that he didn’t notice when the man stopped in front of him to open the door, causing them to collide. At the sudden contact Jim sagged into Alfred’s form, finding the warm and firm body a relief.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Alfred turned around quickly to hold Jim up with his one good arm, “You’re in no position to drive… Get up!” Jim heard the words but they didn’t register. He brought one hand up to grasp at Alfred’s bicep. It was larger than it looked through the white linen. He turned his head up and his face was in Alfred’s neck. He took a deep breath and inhaled Alfred’s scent. Just as it was earlier, Jim smelled cologne and flour, but now he could also smell a hint of the wine from earlier. Alfred stiffened at the action and he took his good arm, wresting it from Jim’s grasp and placed his hand on Jim’s shoulder, making a move to right his position, “Come on now, mate, don’t go makin’ a fool of yourself.” Again, Jim paid his words no attention and opened his mouth, breathing onto Alfred’s neck. He raised his hand and placed it on Alfred’s chest. Alfred’s heart was hammering and his breathing got a little heavier. He pushed Alfred a little so that the older man’s back was pressed up against the door.

“God…” Alfred whispered and he pushed Jim away again, “I told ya, I don’t want to be cleanin’ up any more of your messes, Jim.”

“What mess?” Jim said. His eyes were hazy and his cheeks flushed. His gaze was focused on Alfred’s lips and he licked his own lips before directing his attention to the rest of Alfred’s face. The older man was also flushed and there was uncertainty in his eyes. He tried to walk back into Alfred’s space.

“Mate… let’s get you to bed…” Alfred put a hand on Jim’s shoulder, this time much more firmly, rooting Jim in place. 

Jim smiled and said, “Okay.” He didn’t notice how Alfred winced and shook his head.

The last thing he remembered was Alfred closing a door behind him, leaving Jim alone in a room he’d never seen before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the dinner! And also the only bit of anything remotely Jim/Alfred for a while! I want to take the story on a bit of a conversational journey, so bear with me!


	4. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Alfred spend the morning alone and Alfred tries to get Jim to admit there's something wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a shorter chapter mainly because i havent been sleeping very welll. also alfred is going to be a bit harsh. the next chapter will probably not have alfred in it and will take a bit of a 'pity party' turn. i want to have one more heart to heart scene (next time with harvey) before really delving into the pairing. bear with me pls!

Jim knew he wasn’t in his apartment because everything was too clean. The sheets were impossibly soft and smelled freshly washed. On the other side of a rather large and decorated room, curtains were drawn and Jim could see that it was midday. Looking around, he realized he was still in Wayne Manor. He looked down at himself to see he was in his grey suit though it was wrinkled now. His shoes were off to the side of the bed. His head was pounding and his mouth was dry. He crept out of the bed, putting his shoes on and walked out the door. The hallway was empty and the manor seemed quiet and devoid of life. His dry mouth compelled him to walk towards the kitchen and as he drew close he heard the sound of water running. Getting even closer, he could hear someone humming. The door to the kitchen was open and when Jim looked inside he saw Alfred alone, washing dishes. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and he was working vigorously on a large pot. He had on a set of rubber gloves and a bandage peaked out of one. The sling for his arm was placed to his side, sitting on top of a large granite counter.

“Nice of you to join us in the waking world,” Alfred said, not looking up from the pot. Jim jumped a bit, both in surprise and at the volume Alfred was using, “Master Bruce has gone off on one of his… lessons. I figured he didn’t need to know you were here.”

Jim reached a hand up to his head, “Thanks… Do you have a glass?”

Alfred looked up at that, although he never stopped working. The veins and muscles in his arms moved with his ministrations, “Mate, did you ask if we have a glass in a kitchen?” He turned off the faucet and dried his hands. He reached over to a drying rack and procured a simple glass, “Water, I assume?”

“Yes, please.”

Alfred turned the faucet back on pouring water into the glass and placed it on the counter before returning to the dishes. He nodded at it, “There you go.”

Jim walked over to the counter and picked up the glass. He downed it in one breath and sighed when he placed the glass down. Without a word, Alfred took it and filled it up again. “You’re a saint, Alfred,” Jim said reaching for the glass again.

Alfred snorted, “You’re God damned right, I am. Now, how’s about you tell me what happened last night?”

Jim looked at the older man over the rim of his glass. He took another gulp of water, finishing it and put the glass down. Again, Alfred refilled it without being asked. “We had dinner.”

“Did we?” Alfred raised his eyebrows keeping his eyes on the dishes. He was almost done with them, “Anything else?”

“We talked… a lot,” Jim didn’t rush to drink this next glass. He held it in his hand and stared down at it. He imagined his hand was back on Alfred’s chest and his ears heated up. Wondering what the other man’s face looked like right now he tried to steal a glance, only to see that Alfred was staring at him and he wasn’t washing dishes anymore but the water was still running. There was a moment when the rushing water was the only noise in the room.

“Nothing else?” Alfred asked and there was something in his eyes that Jim couldn’t make out, but it frightened him.

“I drank… a lot.” Jim turned his head away.

“Yes… you did…” something about Alfred’s voice told him that wasn’t the answer he was looking for, but it served as a distraction, “Jim, you can’t go on like this.”

Jim was startled by Alfred’s use of his first name but it wasn’t enough of a reason to turn his face back. A feeling that Jim had forgotten came back and it warred against his conscience right behind his face, sinking down into his chest before finally settling in his gut. He felt ashamed.

“It’s… not a problem,” Jim said quietly though getting the words past his lips was a struggle, “I’m dealing with it.”

“You’re dealing with it?” the dishes were finished and Alfred removed his rubber gloves, exposing the bandage underneath, “If that’s dealing with it, I’d hate to see you leave it alone.” Alfred’s voice was a bit louder than it was before and the sound of the faucet was noticeably absent. Jim still didn’t want to look at him. “You almost got yourself killed a few days ago! How many fights are you going into drunk off your arse? Don’t you care about getting the job done right anymore? I’m barely managing to keep Bruce safe and I don’t want to have to worry about anyone else but if you insist on barging in, drunk with a death wish, someone is going to get hurt.”

Jim knew that. Jim didn’t forget when people were hurt. He hadn’t forgotten Bridgit Pike’s screams when she burned, hadn’t forgotten Jonathan Crane’s wide and terrified eyes, hadn’t forgotten when Bruce told him that he no longer needed his help finding his parents’ murderer. He knew what both his actions and inaction had caused. “I know that,” he whispered.

“Then why are you going about trying to make it worse?” Alfred put his good hand down on the counter and leaned over, making an attempt to catch Jim’s eyes. He lowered his voice a bit, “Why are you trying to hurt people that care about you?”

Jim turned around and began to leave the kitchen, “Thank you, Alfred for letting me stay the night. I should get going.” He started to walk when Alfred’s hand closed around his arm, forcing him to turn around. He looked at Alfred with wide eyes to see the older man was glaring at him.

“Now listen here, old sausage,” Alfred took a deep breath through his nose, “I know I’m being harsh. I know things like this… happen, but you need to think about the people who need you here. And need you safe…”

“Not many of those,” Jim looked him directly in the eye with no expression on his face. While he was no longer dehydrated, his stomach was still roiling with the aftermath of last night and his rediscovered shame. 

“What?” the look on Alfred’s face was incredulous and he took a step closer to Jim, still holding onto his arm. His grip loosened, no longer keeping the shorter man in place but still serving to ground him. He was looking down at Jim with an expression that he couldn’t identify but it made his heart beat faster. “Jim… you brought hope into this house. While Master Bruce has taken certain duties upon himself now, don’t forget that _you_ were there for him when few others were. There aren’t even any words for how grateful I am for that. You've saved his life so many times... I can't imagine how these last two years would have gone without you.”

His words settled into Jim’s mind but they didn’t register. They confused him and only made his sense of shame intensify. He pulled away from Alfred but stood in place, “Again, thank you for your hospitality but I’ve intruded long enough. I’m sorry to have been a burden.”

Alfred raised his hand again slightly before putting it behind his back. He sighed and said, “Not at all, Mister Gordon. I just hope that you haven’t been too inconvenienced by having to stay here overnight. Let me show you to the door.”

The walk to the door was silent and quick. Alfred opened the door for Jim and as he walked through Alfred spoke up, “Mister Gordon, if I may say one last thing..?” Still in the doorway, Jim turned around. Here was close enough to Alfred to hear him breathing, slow and steady. “You’re not a burden. And you can pick yourself back up again.”

Jim gave him a thin lipped smile and turned back around to head to his car.


	5. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is attacked again and Harvey drives Jim to the emergency room.

Gotham greeted Jim with the smell of smoke and gasoline. It was time for him to get back to work. His employer had given him a deadline and an ultimatum that he couldn’t ignore. Time was running out and he had wasted enough of it screwing around, literally and figuratively. 

Driving through the crowded streets and weaving in and out of traffic, Alfred’s words echoed in Jim’s head, _‘Why are you trying to hurt people that care about you?’_ His knuckled turned white on the steering wheel. Bill’s words came back to him as well, _‘…You’ve done a lot for Gotham but what have you done for its people? I bet you don’t know, do you?’_ Jim swallowed and despite all the water he drank earlier his throat was dry again. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel he reached over to the glove compartment and opened it. Inside was a flask which he took out and took two swigs. He kept driving.

________________________________

This next lead was painless and fruitful. He questioned a local drug dealer under a bridge who at first didn’t trust him, but sang the moment Jim mentioned monetary compensation. It was still hard to question the urchins and people of the lower tiers of Gotham’s society, considering his past in the law enforcement spotlight, but Jim found that most were friendly enough. He thanked his source and began to head to his car when he heard sirens blaring. He looked up and saw two masked figures in the distance wrestling two kids into a van. At the front of the van, another figure, pistol in hand, was at the steering wheel.

Jim reached towards his own holstered pistol and behind him he heard the drug dealer swear and start running, not wanting to be caught up in whatever was going on. Further in the distance Jim saw several GCDP vehicles in pursuit. Drawing his gun he ran up closer to the van and he shouted out, “Let go of the kid!” The sirens were getting louder. Overhead Jim heard a helicopter. 

The figures made no attempt to acknowledge him but he heard a voice cry out, “Mister Gordon!” It was Bruce’s voice. Alfred’s voice came back to Jim, _‘…don’t forget that you were there for him when few others were.’_ Jim rushed in.

The GCPD vehicles were there now and officers came rushing out, guns ready. Harvey was at the front and he shouted, “GCPD! Walk away from the van! Jim, get back! We’ll handle this!”

Jim’s eyes flickered to Harvey and the figure behind the wheel pointed their gun at him. Before he could properly react to Harvey he ducked out of the way of a spray of bullets. Not fast enough and one grazed his right side. Jim cried out in pain and fell to the ground, this time keeping his pistol firm in hand. He noticed a few officers close in at Harvey’s command.

“Get off me, you creeps!” Jim recognized that voice. Selina was with Bruce. Clutching his side and staying down below the vision of the figure at the steering wheel, he managed to see her kicking at her attackers, though her arms were being held tightly behind her back. Jim crouched and walked around the side of the van to the driver’s seat, crouching below the window.

“We’re gonna give you one more chance!” Jim heard Harvey shout again, “Walk away from the van and let go of the kids!” Jim looked into the car mirror above the door. The figure inside had their head turned, focused on the officers closing in. He noticed that they had their hand on the ignition and turned the key, gearing up to leave. On the other side, one of the van doors closed. At that sound Jim opened the passenger door and held his gun to the figure’s head. He took a step onto the van and grabbed the assailant by the chest, pulling them onto the ground. When they dropped their gun he stepped back down and kicked the gun underneath the van.

The figure stood up and threw a punch at Jim which landed directly where Jim had been grazed. The attacker’s hand came away red with Jim’s blood and Jim’s clothes were soaked through. Jim fell to the floor at the contact and cried out. On the other side of the van shots were being fired. Jim’s attacker was getting back in the driver’s seat but Jim grabbed onto their leg. They ignored him and put their free foot on the gas pedal and pushed down. The van began moving and Jim had no choice but to let go.

“I got him!” Jim heard Harvey shout and as the van sped away he saw Harvey, wrapped around a body, tumble to the ground and grunt. Jim watched the van go and watched Selina roll out of the van and dash away into the depths of Gotham. Turning back to Harvey he saw that he was wrapped around Bruce.

“Bruce, are you okay?” Jim asked, getting up. He held a hand to his side.

“Where’s Selina?” Bruce disentangled himself from Harvey and also stood up.

“You’re welcome,” Harvey grunted out still on the ground breathing heavily. He had a black eye. And his jacket was torn.

“Thank you, Detective Bullock,” Bruce said although his attention was focused on the direction that the van had sped in, “Did they take her?”

“No,” Jim replied, “I saw her jump out and… get away…” He winced and bent over a bit. It was a shallow wound but it stung.

“Somebody call an ambulance for this guy!” Harvey gestured at the other officers who were busy getting back into their cars.

“No, I’ll be fine, Harvey,” Jim said, “I’ll drive over myself…”

“Jim, that’s ridiculous,” said Harvey, “At least let me drive you. I’ll put some newspaper down so you don’t mess up the leather. Let me just make sure this kid gets home.” Harvey turned his attention to Bruce who was scanning the rooftops for any sign of movement.

“Thank you, Mister Gordon,” Bruce said not looking at him, “And thank you, Detective Bullock, but I’ll be fine getting home… Though don’t you need a statement from me?”

“Shit, kid, you’re right,” Harvey wiped his palm across his face, “Alright get in the car with Officer Ramirez, she’ll take you to the precinct and get a statement. Now let’s get you to a hospital, Jim.”

Bruce went off in the direction of the officer Harvey pointed out as Harvey grasped Jim by the shoulder and led him over to his car. As Harvey opened the door Jim paused.

“Hey, Harvey let me get something from my car,” Harvey nodded and Jim walked carefully over to his car and opened the door. He opened the glove compartment and removed the flask, quickly putting it into the breast pocket of his jacket. He returned to Harvey’s car and gingerly got into the passenger’s seat with another wince and hissed.

Harvey started the car and began to drive. They sat in silence for a bit before Harvey spoke up, “How long do you think you’re gonna last?”

This felt familiar to Jim, “What...?”

“The boozin’ and the whorein’,” Harvey’s tone was very matter of fact, “How much longer you think you’re gonna wanna keep doin’ it?”

Jim was silent.

“I mean, is it helping?” Harvey laughed, his eyes on the road, “I’m not gonna knock it because I’ve tried it and I like it. But do you like it, Jim?”

“I’m not… boozing or _whoreing_ ,” Jim said looking down. The top of his pants were also stained with blood, “I’m fine.”

“Sure, man, whatever you say,” Harvey took one hand off the steering wheel to run his hands though his hair, “We all need a bit of a pity party now and then.”

For a while it was quiet in the car and Jim focused on breathing. Almost without thinking, Jim reached into his jacket’s breast pocket for the flask. Harvey was focused on the road and Jim took a swig from the flask. The scotch didn’t burn as it went down his throat and after a few minutes he felt the pain in his side start to numb. Harvey glanced at him through the corner of his eye but didn’t say anything about it.

“Something’s goin’ on with the Wayne kid…again,” Harvey said.

“Do you have any idea on what it is?”

“No… but hopefully his statement today will help. Two attacks in one week… it’s a bit much.”

“Yeah… have you seen any of the attackers’ faces?”

“Nah, they’re always wearing those ugly masks. But, who knows? Maybe the kid knows something we don’t.”

Jim wouldn’t put it past Bruce to withhold information like that. Too much had happened to him in these last two years and he was starting to withdraw. Jim couldn’t blame him.

The pair arrived at Gotham General Hospital and Harvey escorted Jim into the emergency room and they both took a seat. On the television perched in the corner of the room Jim saw a reporter covering what had just happened. He was talking to Bruce, questioning him about happened. Alfred was behind him looking winded and angry.

“Mr. Wayne, can you tell us anything about your attackers or why they are targeting you?” the reporter shoved his mic into Bruce’s face.

Before Bruce could open his mouth, Alfred spoke up, “No, we don’t know anything and don’t care to share it with the public. Off you go now!” and he shooed the reporter away and herded Bruce away from the cameras.

“That guy is always a delight,” Harvey chuckled. For a while after, Jim and Harvey sat and talked, waiting for Jim to be called into the examination room. The bleeding had lessened significantly and Jim wondered if he really even needed to be examined and worked on but Harvey insisted. When his name finally was called Harvey said, “Jim. Ask yourself if it’s really worth all this. Is this really how you want your life to go?”

Jim stared at him for a minute before a nurse called his name again, this time with an impatient tone. He let his look linger for a moment before he said, “See you round, Harvey.”

“See you, Jim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay!!!! the fic really begins now everybody!!! gird ur loins and ready ur hearts!!!! real talk tho, ive just wanted to lay the scene for how down jim is so that when he starts to come back it can be satisfying for him and his loved ones.


	6. Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim offers to help keep Bruce safe.

Jim stared at his phone in his hands. He had left the hospital hours ago and was sitting in his car. His stitches, which he thought were unnecessary, itched. He had the number for Wayne Manor open and his glove compartment was open. The flask inside was empty. He was parked not too far from his apartment and the afternoon was in full swing. People were rushing around to make the most of their paltry lunch breaks. There was construction happening all around him. The cacophony was grounding, serving to punctuate and flesh out his thoughts. He pressed dial. Before three rings he heard Alfred speaking, “Wayne residence.”

“Alfred, it’s me, Jim,” his words were clear though his head swayed, “Is Bruce okay?”

“Fine as one can be when someone is trying to kill them, I supposed,” Alfred voice was strained and his words were clipped.

“I…” Jim hesitated for a moment. His free he opened and closed several times.

“Well, out with it. Haven’t got all day.”

“I want to help,” Jim blurted out, “Protect Bruce, I mean.”

There was a moment of silence, “Do you now?”

“Yes.”

Another moment of silence. “Well, I suppose you could be of some use to us yet.” Jim’s mouth formed a small smile. “Master Bruce told me of your heroics earlier today. Thank you.”

“Detective Bullock is the one to thank for this one,” Jim replied.

“We’ve already set up to thank him, but now we can thank you,” Alfred said, “Come down to Wayne Manor. Could use another pair of eyes around here, what with all these bloody attacks. Show up sometime around 10. I’ll let the young master know you’re coming.” And then he hung up, not giving Jim time enough to respond.

Jim took his phone from his ear and looked at it again in his hand. He looked over to the empty flask in his glove compartment and reached over. He picked up the flask, got out of his car and walked to the closest garbage can he could see and dropped it in without a glance or a word.

_______________________

The grounds on the Wayne estate seemed quiet and still. Jim looked out from a window in the hallway. It was half past 11. Bruce had gone to bed and Alfred was doing his nightly rounds of the manor, dusting and arranging or whatever it was that butlers do. Jim wasn’t sure. That left Jim alone to patrol the manor, looking for anything moving in the trees outside or for any trespassers. Despite the severity of the situation, it was a welcome reprieve from the work that Jim had spent the last two years doing. 

Walking through the corridors he had a chance to look at all the finery adorning the walls and floors, even the ceilings. Usually his visits to Wayne manor were harried and stressful. When they weren’t, he was being ushered from room to room without time to stop and think about it all. Not that he even could think about it all. The wealth was truly unfathomable. His walk led him to what seemed to be a parlor, a room he had never been in. There was a beautiful sofa and an unlit fireplace. The walls were lined with bookshelves and paintings. There were even a few busts of people that Jim supposed must have been important at some point. He walked in and ran his hand along the top of the sofa; it was velvet. He continued to walk around the room in the dark, exploring and touching, when suddenly the light was turned on. Jim, startled, turned around and put his hand on his holstered gun. Alfred was standing in the doorway, his hands held up in a mock surrender.

“I’m innocent, I swear, mate,” he said with a slight smile before putting his hands back down, “I haven’t been in here in a while… Martha used to spend quite a lot of time here.” Alfred walked over to the closest bookshelf and ran his finger down the spine of one of the books, “These were hers.”

Jim wasn’t sure what to say to that. He just watched Alfred reminisce.

“Didn’t find anything unusual?” Alfred said not looking at him.

“Nothing besides a lot of statues of dead guys.”

“Well, that’s good,” Alfred turned around to look at Jim, “I find I’m not in the mood for a ruckus… Gordon, why did you want to help?”

The question took Jim aback for a second. Why did he want to help? It was like asking why he joined the army, why he joined the force. “It’s the right thing to do,” he said.

“Is it?” Alfred walked over to the front of the sofa and sat down. Jim was on the far side of the room and facing a now seated Alfred. “Is everything you do ‘the right thing to do’?” The older man reclined and folded his hands over his chest. The bandage was gone and now Jim could see stitches that traveled up his hand beyond the cuffs of his suit.

Jim looked down and coughed, “…No.”

“Of course not,” Alfred said, “You wouldn’t be human. What makes being here tonight the right thing?”

Jim thought for a moment. He thought about joining the force and about coming to Gotham. He thought about his colleagues at the precinct. He thought about Penguin and letting him live; about Don Falcone and Theo Galavan. He thought about everything that happened with Barbara and Lee. His brow furrowed, “Well… it wouldn’t be right to let Bruce down.”

This time it was Alfred’s turn to be quiet for a bit. “Have a seat, mate.” Jim looked up, unsure of what was going on and walked over to the sofa. When he sat down he winced, the stitches in his side pulling a bit. “You alright?” Alfred asked.

“Yeah,” Jim composed himself and leaned back on the sofa, “Got grazed a bit today.”

Alfred turned where he was sitting in the corner of the sofa and leaned one of his arms on the arm rest. “I’m sorry, Jim.”

Jim snorted, “It’s not your fault I was shot at.”

“Not for the wound,” Alfred sighed and looked at Jim the expression in his eyes filled with something akin to commiseration, “You’ve had a lot on your back and I’ve tried to make the load worse. You’re already struggling and I… I tried to blame you for it.”

“Isn’t it my fault, though?” Jim hunched over and put his elbows on his knees. He picked at his fingernails.

“You know, that’s a bloody nasty habit,” said Alfred gruffly.

“Blaming myself? How can I do anyth-“

“No, no. Pickin’ at your nails,” Jim looked up to see Alfred’s lips were pursed and one eyebrow was raised. His attention was focused on Jim’s hands, “Don’t get any of your nails on this carpet, or I swear, I’ll convince Master Bruce to make you do the vacuuming.”

Jim smiled and laughed. Alfred had a small scowl on his face. “Seriously?” Jim said, still laughing.

“You’re damn right, I’m serious,” as he said that he reached over and swatted at Jim’s hands intending the gesture to be quick and fleeting. It was obvious he wasn’t ready for what Jim held on to one of his hands; the hand with stitches, “… Mate… you been drinking again?”

“I feel like this was my fault,” Jim held onto Alfred’s hand and inspected the stitches. Alfred’s hand was lightly covered in gray hair and the stitches glared through them like barbed wire. Alfred hadn’t made an attempt to take his hand away but had grown very still and tense.

“The man had a knife,” Alfred said quietly, “This is generally what happens when you go up against someone with a knife.”

“I should have stopped it,” Jim’s thumb started to make circles on Alfred’s hand. He looked up at Alfred to see the older man staring at him with wide eyes. He almost looked afraid.

“Could have, would have,” Alfred said, “As the old saying goes…”

Jim slipped a finger into Alfred’s jacket cuff, grazing against his wrist. Alfred’s hand started to relax. Jim leaned a bit over towards Alfred. There was still a seat between them but somehow it felt as though they were right next to each other, “I should have been there for Bruce… For you.” Jim was leaning close enough that he could smell Alfred’s cologne again and he wondered what it would be like to touch Alfred’s body again.

“Jim…” Alfred’s mouth hung slightly open. His eyes flickered down for a moment. Jim moved over on the couch, closer to Alfred. One hand still holding onto Alfred’s, he reached another to rest right next to Alfred’s leg on the couch. If he moved another inch, they would be touching. “Jim, I swear to God I swear to god if you’ve been drinking…”

Jim stayed quiet and leaned further into Alfred’s space. He licked his lips and said, “I haven’t.” Soon Jim was hovering not far away from Alfred’s face. He stayed there a moment before the older man leaned in a bit.

At that very moment a crash came from another room. Jim dropped Alfred’s hand and both men stood up rushing out of the room. They ran towards the source of the crash and found a hallway window had been broken through. I rock was lying on the floor but there was no sign of a person in the area.

“It’s a distraction!” Jim yelled, “Go find Bruce!” He drew his gun and started to scan the area. He moved down the hallway as Alfred ran off in the direction of Bruce’s room. He walked, gun first, through the hallway looking for any sign of movement and listening for any form of sound. The only thing he could hear was the sound of Alfred’s bounding footsteps. He found a staircase and walked up it, heading towards Bruce’s room. Before he could turn another corner, a person fell from the ceiling and attacked him. The attacker managed to catch him off guard enough to make him drop his gun but Jim threw his fists up, trying to block any incoming attacks. But instead of going for his face, the assailant launched a kick directly to his wounded side and Jim knew that the stitches had burst. The pain was blinding and it allowed the attacker to get a punch to his other side. Momentarily winded, Jim managed to gain his bearings and fight back. Down the hall Jim heard another crash.

The fighting seemed to go on forever and Jim felt blood trickling down his side. The fight was brutal and Jim had been kicked in the teeth. There was blood dripping from his mouth but he knew his attacker wasn’t doing well either. He heard several cracks on the occasion that his own punches connected with their body. When they started slow down Jim took the opportunity to grapple them and slam their head into the wall. He created a rather large dent in the wood work but the body slumped down to the floor. He took a moment to breathe before he ran off in the direction of the crash he heard. It was coming from Bruce’s room and when he got there he saw Alfred hunched over a body, punching it in the face repeatedly. Bruce’s body was lying on the floor by the window.

“Alfred!” Jim shouted, “It’s over! Is Bruce alright?” He rushed over to where Bruce was lying.

Alfred stopped his assault and the body didn’t move but ragged breaths came in and out. He clambered over to where Jim and Bruce were and cradled Bruce’s head in his lap, “When I came in, old mate over there had a cloth press up against his face. I’m guessing chloroform. Is there anyone else out there?”

“I don’t know,” Jim stood up and wiped some of the blood on his face off on the back of his hand, “I’ll go look.” Jim walked over to the window to check outside and he didn’t see anything so he left the room to sweep the manor. Around fifteen minutes later, Jim had checked the manor and found no one around. He returned to the room and Alfred had put Bruce back on the bed and was sitting in a chair next to it. His head was in his hands and Jim came up to stand behind him. He put his hand on Alfred’s shoulder and Alfred took one hand and placed it over his. They were like for a few seconds when Bruce began to stir. Alfred quickly stood up and leaned over the bed.

“… Alfred?” Bruce mumbled.

“Shh, Master Bruce,” Alfred murmured, “Rest up. I’ll fetch you a glass of water,” And with that Alfred sped into the adjoined bathroom leaving Jim alone with Bruce for a few moments. He was already a small kid, but here in this moment, he was so fragile and young. His eyes weren’t searching and deep. They were tired and hurt. Alfred returned from the bathroom with a small glass of water and held up Bruce’s head to help him drink it. Once the glass was finished the boy was out again and Alfred was left staring at him. 

Jim, beginning to feel out of place whispered, “I guess… I’ll get going. You have a lot to do now.”

“No…” Alfred tore his gaze away from Bruce’s unconscious form, “Stay. Please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :>
> 
> it begins


	7. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Jim finally indulge.

“Stay. Please,” Alfred’s words floated over to Jim. For a moment he seemed so vulnerable but then he composed himself, “I mean, I couldn’t possibly allow you to leave in such a condition. Looking like you were just run over. Mister Gordon allow me to see to your injuries.”

Jim stared at him and sighed, “Okay.”

Alfred spared another glance at Bruce before walking out of the room, just barely brushing Jim as he passed him.  
________________

Jim was seated in a chair next to a sink in the kitchen. Alfred was in a pantry rummaging around before he came out with a leather briefcase. He placed it on the counter and opened it. Inside, Jim could see an extensive first aid kit. “Look up,” Alfred said gruffly. He took off his jacket and put on a pair of latex gloves. He stood over Jim and lightly touched his face. If Jim had been staring straight ahead he would be looking directly at Alfred’s stomach. The older man was close enough that Jim could feel heat radiate off him.

Alfred angled Jim’s face this way and that and he tutted, “Nasty blow to the face, eh?” Jim’s lip was split badly and he had a few scrapes on his face. Alfred reached into his briefcase and disinfected a few cotton balls to dab on Jim’s face. He wasn’t exactly gentle, but it didn’t hurt. His movements were precise and practiced. He was leaning over Jim and his eyes were focused on Jim’s injuries and his mouth was set in a firm line. Jim took the opportunity to look at him. Alfred was certainly much older than he was, that much was obvious. But what Jim hadn’t noticed was that most of it was in his eyes. Alfred’s eyes were tired and heavy lidded. He stared at them as the flickered across his own face and didn’t even notice when they were looking right back at him, something soft hidden in the irises. Alfred’s hands stilled on his face and Jim felt his thumb rub back and forth on his cheekbone.

“Alright, off with your shirt,” suddenly Alfred’s hands were gone from Jim’s face and patting his shoulder, “Let’s have a look.” Jim unbuttoned his shirt with ease but when it came time to actually take it off he hissed in pain. Moving was proving to be difficult and the blood had sealed his shirt to his side. Alfred’s hands were back on his body and he was now helping Jim ease out of the shirt and he murmured, “Easy now…” Soon the shirt was off and Jim’s wound was exposed to the brisk air. Alfred lightly poked and prodded telling Jim it was to check for deeper bruising or any broken bones. He applied a local anesthetic and began to repair the stitches that had popped. Jim felt the needle go in and out of his body. Alfred was working as fast as he could without causing further injury. Jim looked at his face again and this time Alfred licked his lips, trying to stay focused. Jim felt a bit of the blood rush out of his head and his own lips parted. Jim tried to refocus himself and made an attempt to count the times the needle dipped into his skin. One, two, three, four… Jim lost count but now the needle was gone and Alfred’s hand was ghosting along Jim’s body and Jim tried to press his body into the touch but Alfred retracted his hand.

“All patched up, sir,” Alfred’s hands were behind his back now and he looked down at Jim slightly flushed, “If you’d like, I can call you a cab.”

Jim’s brow slightly furrowed and he blinked slowly before standing up from where he was sitting. Alfred moved back a bit to give him space but Jim walked right back over to him and grabbed at the pockets of Alfred’s waistcoat pulling him closer so that their bodies were almost flush against each other; maybe a hair’s breadth kept them apart. Alfred let out a shaky breath and the air between them seemed to pulse with its own uncertainty. Jim inched forward so that their legs were brushing against each other and brought his hand to Alfred’s chest. For the second time now he felt Alfred’s heartbeat and it filled him with something he couldn’t explain but wasn’t unfamiliar with. 

“Listen here,” Alfred said, “This is a right odd joke to play on an old man.” He didn’t move away.

Jim tilted his head and leaned into Alfred, smelling his neck. This time he was sober and he could make out the smell of aftershave and feel the slight stubbled forming on Alfred’s jaw. He rubbed his nose against it slightly and inhaled deeply. He brought his hand to touch Alfred’s face and turned it to look directly at his. Alfred’s eyes were wide and he wasn’t looking Jim in the eye. His eyes were focused lower on Jim’s lips.

“It’s not a joke,” Jim’s mouth hung open and he grazed his lips against’s Alfred’s, waiting for the older man to make a move.

He didn’t have to wait long before Alfred closed the gap between them and kissed him lightly, as though he were afraid it was all going to end like a dream. He brought one hand to Jim’s uninjured side and wrapped his arm around Jim’s waist and put his other hand on the hand Jim had on his chest, clasping them both there, hard against his now hammering heart. The first kiss was chaste and so was the second and the third. It was delicate and gentle. Something quiet settled in the room. It was a quiet unlike any other either man had experienced for a while. Alfred’s hand came up to touch Jim’s chin and angled his face. He pulled away slightly and Jim looked up at him with his mouth open. His lips were wet and his breathing was steady. Alfred was looking at him as though he were a miracle. The way he felt people all over Gotham used to look at him. The older man’s eyes were staring deep into his and he realized he didn’t want to want anymore. Jim closed the distance between them again and kissed him, harder this time. Alfred inhaled quickly through his nose, slightly caught off guard by the advance but soon caught up and reciprocated. Jim’s hand were no longer gripping Alfred’s waistcoat pockets and were now grasping at his hips, grinding their hips together. One of Alfred’s hands was now carding through his hair and he brought one up to Jim’s injured side and palmed it lightly causing Jim to pull away and let out a small moan. Alfred’s eyes glazed over for a second upon hearing that sound but he shook his head slightly once he’d realized what he’d done.

“You alright, love?” Alfred gingerly placed his hand back on Jim’s injured side. He looked down to see the stitches were still intact but the area was looking swollen. 

“I’m fine,” Jim said sounding winded. He leaned back into Alfred’s space and couldn’t disguise the look of hurt that ran across his face when Alfred pulled back again.

“Settle down, now,” Alfred had the faintest smile on his face that crinkled the crow’s feet around his eyes, “I’m not goin’ anywhere. But you need to be a bit more careful.” He brought his hand up to touch the side of Jim’s face and rubbed it along until he was cupping the back of his neck. He leaned down a bit and kissed the side of Jim’s jaw and inhaled deeply. Jim wondered what he smelled like to Alfred. Alfred kissed a line towards Jim’s mouth and licked his way in gently. This time Alfred pushed Jim back and steered him so that the small of his back was pressed up against the counter. He slipped his own leg in between Jim’s and Jim spread his a bit to give the older man access. Alfred’s thigh was pressed up against his groin and Jim could feel himself getting hard underneath the pressure. He rubbed him self on Alfred’s leg, growing uncomfortable in his trousers. Alfred’s tongue was sliding in and out of his mouth and he was breathing heavily through his nose. His hands were on Jim’s hips now, holding him in place and he started to grind down into him. Jim was pliant under Alfred’s hands and was letting him explore his mouth, content to just experience the touch from the other man until Alfred let out a low moan. The sound sparked something in Jim and he grabbed Alfred’s face, keeping their lips together and bit him.

The sudden bite made Alfred gasp and Jim thrust his tongue deep into the older man’s mouth and tugged his hair causing Alfred to moan again. This kiss was more teeth than anything else and now Jim was rutting against Alfred’s leg, leaning back over the counter and pulling Alfred with him. He felt that Alfred was getting hard too and he took one hand away from Alfred’s face to palm him through his trousers. He gripped at Alfred’s length, squeezing experimentally and smiling when Alfred gasped again at the contact. Jim reached for his zipper to pull Alfred out of his pants but was stopped by the other man’s hand.

“Not in _my_ kitchen, pet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! i was in south korea for a friend's birthday and i had another friend visit me from the states! i'm also in the process of moving back to the states so updates may be.... a lil scattered....


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